


appearances

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, YCMAL 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25133410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Oh my god, I’m not saying you have to like Owen,” Joey says.“Okay, good,” Scratch says.“Okay,” Joey says. “Butwhydon’t you like him?”
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 32
Kudos: 332





	appearances

Joey feels like there’s a weight off his chest when they’re taking off from LA, an even bigger weight disappearing when he’s stepping onto the tarmac. It’s a little chilly after LA, but in a way that feels right, feels like home. He’s got two days off before the next game, dinner plans with Owen, Zach blocked on every single social media platform, and no more games in LA for the rest of the season. 

He feels good. Feels even better after he showers — the comfort of stepping into your own shower after a roadie cannot be overestimated — and shaved and gotten himself looking Owen acceptable, has just turned on highlights to kill time before he heads out when Scratch comes barging into his apartment without an invite.

“You’re going somewhere,” Scratch says, less a question than an observation. Which: fair, because Joey’s got his teeth in, his hair tamed, and he’s wearing the nice sweater his parents got him for his birthday and his best fitting pair of jeans, so he’s definitely not looking like lounging around the house Joey, who does not believe in pants unless they’re of the sweat variety.

“Meeting Owen for dinner in an hour,” Joey says.

“Oh,” Scratch says. “Sorry, didn’t — shouldn’t have barged in without asking. I stuck to you so much on the roadie you’re probably sick of me right now.”

“Never,” Joey says, knowing even as it leaves his mouth he’s just opened himself up for round forty of ‘let me move in with you then, come on, it’d be great, I’d be the best roommate ever, let’s do it Money’.

He braces himself.

“Should check up on Trigger, anyway,” Scratch says. “He’s probably feeling neglected. I’ll uh — enjoy your date.”

“It’s not a date,” Joey says. “Dude, I would have told you if it was a date.”

Like, no way of misinterpreting — Joey would probably shout it from the damn rooftops if Owen agreed to go on a date with him. Call all his teammates and tell them that they’re still not allowed to call Owen ‘your boy’, because people do not belong to other people, but that it’s no longer going to sting like a barb. Simply say ‘suck it’ on his call to Willy. Take out a fucking ad in the New York Times or something.

“Enjoy whatever it is then,” Scratch says, already halfway out the door.

“Thanks?” Joey says to door.

The first thing Owen says to Joey is “That’s a really nice color on you,” and Joey is not preening.

“Thanks,” Joey preens.

Okay, yes, he’s preening.

“The green really brings out your eyes,” Owen says.

Now he’s also possibly blushing.

“I like your shirt,” Joey says, flustered. “It’s. Nice.”

He is much worse at this compliment business than Owen. It is a nice shirt, though. Very. Flattering. Joey is not going to say that, it’d probably come out weird and pervy.

“S’good shirt,” Joey mumbles.

Why is he so bad at this?

Thankfully Owen doesn’t look at Joey like he has two heads or suddenly remember he has other plans, at least, just says, “Thanks,” like that was a totally normal compliment given in a totally normal way. He’s also very understanding when Joey knocks his water glass all over the table, and thankfully the waiter is too — Joey will tip the shit out of him for that. Also thankfully Joey did it before the wine arrived, because that would have been a little stickier.

“How was your trip?” Owen asks, after everything’s been mopped up and they’ve gotten a new, dry tablecloth. 

“Basically just hid in my hotel room with Scratch the whole time,” Joey says. 

“How is Scratch?” Owen asks. 

“Fine?” Joey says.

“He’s okay about the Zach thing?” Owen asks.

“What do you mean?” Joey asks.

“Just from the way you were telling it he was being really protective while you were in California,” Owen says. “He’s settled down now that you’re back?”

“Oh, yeah,” Joey says. “Now that there are no potential Zachs around to tackle he’s back to normal.”

Well, he was weird again today, but that was his weird Owen thing, not over-protectiveness. Plus Joey feels like it’d be kind of rude to tell Owen that Scratch had a weird Owen thing, both to Owen and to Scratch.

Owen laughs. “I still need to meet him properly,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Joey agrees. He still thinks a couple minutes of getting to see how great Owen was is all it’d take to shake off whatever the hell has Scratch weird about him. “For sure. You want to come out after another win? Or we could do something else if that’s getting boring, we could—”

“No, that sounds good,” Owen says. “Next win being your next game?”

“Don’t jinx us,” Joey says, but — well, probably. It’s the Oilers, after all.

Owen grins. “I’ll make sure I don’t make any other plans,” he says. “Just in case.”

*

The Oilers fold like a house of cards. A tragic sopping wet house of cards. Halla gets a late goal that breaks Trigger’s shutout, which he’s probably furious about, but otherwise for the entire game it feels like the ice is tilted towards the Oilers’ goalie. Joey got a goal, which is always nice, blocked a shot trying to help Trigger out on that shutout — ultimately fruitless in the end and stung like a mofo — so he’s a weird combo where he’s cheerfully grinning, between the goal and the fact Owen’s coming, and also gingerly hobbling around until their head trainer Dan comes over with an ice-pack and a longsuffering expression.

“Use that,” Dan says. “Stop putting weight on it. I’ll get you a walking boot.”

“It’s just a bruise,” Joey protests.

“Actually just a bruise or are you doing that thing?” Dan asks.

“Just a bruise,” Joey promises.

“Come to the med room before next practice,” Dan says.

Joey gives him a salute, and dutifully ices his foot while he texts Owen to let him know he might be a bit late.

“You good, Money?” Scratch asks.

“Just bruised,” Joey says. “Rogers has a hell of a slapper.”

Scratch winces. “Yeah,” he says. “You going to come out, or too sore?”

“I’m good,” Joey says. “Owen’s coming tonight, if that’s cool.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Scratch asks.

“I don’t know,” Joey says. “You just don’t seem to like him.”

“I’ve talked to him for like maybe two minutes total,” Scratch says, which Joey would like to note is not a rebuttal.

“That’s kind of proving my point,” Joey says.

“Joey, buddy,” Scratch says. “I don’t know the guy, but if you’re going to keep acting like I need to like him or I’m a bad person, I’m going to start disliking him, like, automatically.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Joey says. “I just think if you talk to him, you’ll like him.”

“That is literally what you are doing right now,” Scratch says. “For the record.”

“Oh my god, I’m not saying you have to like Owen,” Joey says.

“Okay, good,” Scratch says.

“Okay,” Joey says. “But _why_ don’t you like him?”

“Fucking _Christ_ , Joey,” Scratch says and stomps off.

“Did you insist that white wine was better than red wine again?” Shithead asks. “Because I refuse to be involved into that shitshow again.”

“Go away, Shithead,” Joey says. It _is_ better, and not just because even a single glass of red wine will give Joey a headache. He doesn’t even know why Scratch is on the Pro-Red Team, what with how sweet a lot of white wines are.

“White wine’s for chicks,” Shithead says, and Joey doesn’t know if he’s being a shithead on purpose to get a rise out of Joey or it’s just general Shithead-ness. Thankfully Dan shows up with Joey’s walking boot, then, so Joey doesn’t take the bait, because he knows himself, and he totally would have taken it otherwise. The last thing the Scouts room needs is The Wine Debate: Round Two. Things got ugly. Feelings were hurt, wine spilled, lockers vandalized. When your GM comes down to the locker room to very sternly lecture you like you’re a first grade class who just lost their pizza party for misbehaving, you know it went too far.

But white’s unquestionably the better wine. Joey stands by that.

*

Owen’s already at the bar when Joey clomps in, chatting animatedly with Willy, though when Joey sits down he breaks off with a concerned, “What happened to your leg?”

“Blocked a shot with my foot,” Joey says. “Bit bruised, but it’s fine, the boot’s just to make sure I’m not putting weight on it.”

“Should you be out?” Owen asks. “Have you taken anything? I have Advil in my bag if you need it.”

Fretful looks good on Owen — what doesn’t — and Joey once again tries not to visibly preen. “I’m fine, really.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Owen says. “Willy ordered us drinks, they should be on their way.”

“Great,” Joey says, looking around for Scratch. Joey genuinely doesn’t know what to expect from him tonight, which is weird, because Scratch is predictable, at least to Joey. But it’s pretty undeniable that Scratch has been weird about Owen. Scratch could have decided not to come out, or disappear in the crowd, or bow out early, or be rude in a totally un-Scratchlike way, but it’s just as likely that he’ll sit down in a moment and be friendly, start chatting Owen’s ear off, giving Owen yet more evidence in his ‘wow Joey Munroe’s a loser’ file. Not that Scratch would do it on purpose like Willy and Trigger totally did, but just talking about Joey’s life would provide evidence, honestly, and Scratch has been there at more of the embarrassing moments than any of Joey’s teammates, even the ones he’s known twice as long. Mostly because they were often his fault. He’s an Egger-Onner.

“Where’s Scratch?” Joey asks.

“Comforting Trigger about the loss,” Willy says.

“You won, though,” Owen says.

“Not in Trigger’s eyes,” Willy says.

Owen looks confused, which is a fair response. Goalies are so weird.

Willy’s halfway through an explanation of how losing a shutout late can be seen as worse as losing entirely — Owen still looks confused and Joey does not blame him — when Scratch shows up, leaning over Joey to deposit a vodka soda in front of Joey, and another in front of Owen.

“I didn’t know what you drank, Owen, but I got you what Joey drinks?” Scratch says. “If you want — I got myself a beer if you don’t want the vodka soda.”

Joey’s touched, because Scratch thinks vodka sodas are ‘bullshit, Money, they charge you like five bucks extra for _water_ , just have a shot of vodka and order some fucking water for free’, so if Owen opts for beer Scratch is probably handing that second one to Joey and going straight back to the bar rather than drinking it himself.

“Vodka soda’s great, thanks Scratch,” Owen says.

“‘Welcome,” Scratch says, then mumbles, “Splash of cran,” looking his shoulder for a long moment — Joey follows his eyes to see it’s at Trigger, maybe gauging if he needs more moral support — before he grabs a chair, and instead of sitting down in it, plops it down to cram himself between Joey and Willy.

“Who said you could sit here?” Willy asks, and him and Scratch get into an elbow-off. 

Joey frowns. Elbow-offs are him and Scratch’s thing. Stupid Willy steals everything.

“Ow, _fuck_ , Scratch,” Willy says.

Weak. Can’t even handle the elbow-offs.

“Weak,” Scratch declares, and Joey grins at him, gives him a congratulatory elbow for beating Willy at th elbow-off, which Scratch returns.

“Bunch of bullies,” Willy says, rubbing his arm gingerly. Seriously, weak. Joey’s sitting here in a walking boot and Willy’s milking an elbow from Scratch like he might just die. “Am I right, Owen?”

“Excuse me,” Scratch says. “Was it or was it not you that just told me I couldn’t sit here?”

“He has you there, Tate,” Owen says.

“Everybody’s teaming up on me tonight, huh,” Willy says. “I see how it is.”

“Yeah, Willy, you’re so hard done by,” Scratch says.

“I had two goals tonight!” Willy says. “Two! And neither of you fuckers appreciate me. Where’s my ‘buy you a drink, Willy’? Nowhere.”

“You want me to buy you a drink, Willy?” Owen asks.

“Oh no, no,” Willy says. “I’ll buy you drinks. Two. For my goals.”

He’s grinning, all teeth, and Joey knows that’s just Willy being Willy, but Owen goes pink anyway, because he doesn’t. Joey’s going to kill Willy one of these days. He’ll save a time for when he least expects it, and then he’ll strike. Or maybe he’ll have Scratch sic Trigger on him. Joey wonders if Trigger’s loyalty to Scratch is unwavering enough for that to work. Like, on the one hand: he does everything Scratch says, pretty much. On the other hand: killing your lead scorer is probably a big ask for a goalie who likes to win games.

“Your face is disturbing me right now,” Willy says, so Joey guesses his murder plotting is evident.

“Your face is disturbing always,” Joey mutters. 

Willy gives him this look like ‘that the best you can do, Munroe? We both know I have a terrific face.’

Stupid Willy and his stupid handsome face.

“I’m going to get another round,” Willy says. “Vodka soda for you, Owen?”

“Sounds great,” Owen says. “Scratch just got me one though, you don’t have to—”

“No worries, saves time for the next round,” Willy says, then, “Neither of you are getting shit,” to Scratch and Joey. He’s such a drama queen. Elbow him a bit, insult his face, and he won’t buy you drinks. It’s absurd.

“Oh no, what a shame that I don’t have a full beer in front of me,” Scratch says. “Wait.”

“Help, help, we’re being oppressed,” Joey says.

Willy glares at them before sweeping off.

“Yeah, you walk away dramatically!” Joey calls at his retreating back.

“So high-maintenance,” Scratch sighs.

“Yeah, look what we have to deal with, Owen,” Joey says.

“I refuse to say anything negative about the man currently buying me a drink,” Owen says.

“That’s smart,” Scratch says. “That’s a smart stance to take.”

“Thanks,” Owen says. “I figure it’s a good code to live by.”

Willy very pointedly hands Owen a vodka soda upon his return, and, in case Joey and Scratch have somehow forgotten that he refused to get them drinks, he gives them a particularly smug look when Owen thanks him.

“My cue,” Scratch says, finishing the remainder of his beer in one swallow. “Money?”

“Thanks,” Joey says, and makes direct eye contact with Willy as he very slowly sips his drink. He’s not finishing until Scratch returns with another: can’t let Willy win.

“You guys are ridiculous,” Owen says.

This is probably a true fact, but ridiculous or not: Joey’s going to win.

He still has a sip left when Scratch returns with a fresh vodka soda. “Didn’t get one for you, Owen,” he says. “Making sure Willy follows through on that promise to buy you two drinks.”

“Like I ever break my promises,” Willy scoffs.

“Gonna check on how Trigger’s doing,” Scratch says instead of sitting down, and Joey would have worried about that if Scratch hadn’t sat with them for a round, talked perfectly normally with Owen the whole time, but he did, and Trigger _is_ known to get grumpy when he thinks Joey’s monopolizing Scratch, so it doesn’t seem like an excuse to get away. 

Besides, he’s probably still sulking: losing a shutout late is a traumatic event for goalies, likely below ‘pulled’, ‘blown out’, and ‘had a late game lead and then blew it and lost in OT’ but probably above ‘whiffed on an obvious one’ or ‘tripped on a stick and fell down looking like a disgruntled turtle’. Well. Joey’s only guessing at where it falls, but he certainly knows better than to ask Trigger, especially when the wound’s still fresh. 

“Ask Trigger about his feelings on murder,” Joey asks, eyeing Willy, who’s stolen Scratch’s seat and is leaning across the table to say something to Owen, who looks pink again.

“Pft, Money, you already know the answer to that,” Scratch says before he goes to join Trigger and Buzzer a few tables over.

“Murder is never the answer, Money,” Willy says solemnly.

“Yeah, Money,” Owen echoes. 

Great, now they’re teaming up on him. This is the worst. Joey definitely needs to hear from Trigger about that murder business.

Joey’s finished his vodka soda and starting to crash hard — he thinks he still has an emotional hangover from California — when Scratch puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Money?” Scratch says. “Gonna head home if you want to join.”

Bless Scratch and his timing.

“Yeah,” Joey says. “Gimme —”

“Meet you outside,” Scratch says. “Night, Owen. Willy.”

“Night Scratch,” Owen says. “Heading out?” he asks Joey after Scratch leaves.

“Yeah, if that’s okay,” Joey says. “I can hold off if—”

“Nah,” Owen says with a hand-wave. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m really fine,” Joey says.

“If you’re in a walking boot you’re not really fine,” Owen says. “Go home with Scratch.”

“Okay,” Joey says. “You okay to get home? I can—”

“Don’t worry Money, I’ll take care of him,” Willy says.

Joey narrows his eyes.

Willy grins back.

Joey hopes Trigger’s Ubering with them. He has an important question to ask.

Trigger’s thankfully waiting outside with Scratch when Joey clomps outside.

“Thanks for that,” Trigger says, nodding at Joey’s foot.

“Didn’t help in the end,” Joey says.

“Still,” Trigger says.

“Trigger,” Joey says. “What are your feelings on murder?”

“Murder is — bad?” Trigger says, with the face of someone who thinks that’s the way he’s supposed to answer, even if he doesn’t personally believe it.

“What are your feelings on murdering Willy?” Joey asks.

“We don’t murder scorers,” Trigger says, and this time the face is very sure.

Dammit.

“Four minutes,” Scratch says. “Red Honda Civic, Missouri plates.” 

“Got it,” Trigger says, craning his head around like it’s suddenly going to appear, and Joey leans on Scratch, foot throbbing like a bitch now that he’s actually standing. The cold probably doesn’t help. 

“You take anything for your foot?” Scratch asks.

Joey shakes his head.

“Kay, do it when you get home,” Scratch says, and wraps an arm around Joey’s shoulder, holding his weight up until their Uber gets there.


End file.
